Anatomy of the Heart
by Vytina
Summary: I knew there was a difference between the reason he wore a mask and the reason I wore a mask, but somehow...it didn't feel like there was any difference right now. For once, everything seemed so wonderfully simple.


**A/N: The result of a writing challenge with my good friend danis58 for our Wally West/The Flash x Shayera Hol/Hawkgirl fan club, "Star Crossed 2". I am very happy with how this turned out, and I've enjoyed writing it quite a bit...once I figured out just where I wanted the story to go.**

**This doesn't really take place before or after any episode, but it is set during the "Justice League" era before "Hawkgirl" was known as Shayera Hol. The challenge was to rewrite her unmasking scene. Obviously, since it is a group in support of Shayera and Flash's relationship, including writing them in a romantic vein, this is a separate entity from the original scene.**

**Once again, I am going to politely ask that you keep your comments and reviews polite, civil, and positive. Flames will definitely NOT be tolerated, so please be nice. If you have nothing nice to say, please say nothing at all.**

**Title: Anatomy of the Heart**

**Summary: I knew there was a difference between the reason _he_ wore a mask and the reason _I_ wore a mask, but somehow...it didn't feel like there was any difference right now. For once, everything seemed so wonderfully simple.**

**Character Pairing: Wally West/The Flash x Shayera Hol/Hawkgirl**

**Rating: T for suggestive content**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events related to "Justice League". I own only the writing and effort that went into creating this short little story.**

* * *

><p>"<em>It is difficult to know at what moment love begins. It is less difficult to know that it has begun." ~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow<em>

"Would it kill him to take things seriously for _once_ in his life?"

I could hear John's voice, low and bristled with an unpleasant mixture of frustration and anger, mingled with his furiously-pacing footsteps. He and the others were down the hall, a full twenty-five feet from where I was standing, but every sound was as clear to my ears as though I stood directly beside the speaker. It didn't matter if it was John, Diana, Superman, or anyone else. In their frustrated states, they were all collectively distinct.

"He's a grown man," Diana's voice was just as irate, and I had little trouble envisioning the lines of anger etched into her face, "Must he consistently act like a child?"

Superman gave a huff of agreement, "There's a time and place for his antics," he muttered, "does he not realize in the middle of a mission is neither the place _nor_ the time?"

I'd heard enough; pushing myself away from the wall, I slowly began a walk down a dark and empty hallway. Every footstep seemed to echo with the resounding blow of a drum, crushing against my eardrums and leaving me feeling almost vulnerable in this solitude. But I was still a rational being, and I knew better. This had nothing to do with empty hallways and loud footsteps. This, much as I was loathe to admit it, was a simple consequence of my conscience being weighed down with the brutal torment otherwise known as _guilt_.

My better sense and logic told me I had nothing to be feeling guilty about. _I_ wasn't the one who had gotten on everyone's nerves. _I_ wasn't the one who had made a total mess of today's mission and brought the League dangerously close to pure and simple failure. _I_ wasn't the one who was the constant source of irritation and turmoil for the rest. And _I_ certainly wasn't the one who couldn't seem to take things seriously, no matter how dire the circumstances.

And yet...still I felt guilty.

It wasn't as though I didn't have my fair share of moments where I wanted to take Flash's head off. Of the seven, he was certainly the one who, despite his love of moving fast and getting things done at a ridiculous speed, just couldn't be bothered to grow up any time soon. He'd been a man with a child's sense of maturity and responsibility from the day I'd met him, and things hadn't changed. Relying too much on his speed and never stopping to use his head for even five seconds, he was more often a liability than a support, and I along with the others never seemed to tire of telling him so, nor did we run out of opportunities to do so.

Still...I couldn't help but feel he wasn't entirely at fault this time.

Really, had he really done something so terribly wrong that he deserved that kind of talk from his fellows? We were a League, seven united supposedly as one. And yet we weren't. I was a Lieutenant in an army—_I_ knew exactly what it meant to be united as one before, during, and after battle. We may have possessed the ability to focus enough on whatever task remained at hand, but before and especially after each and every mission, it seemed we couldn't wait to start quarreling like children. It frustrated and disgusted me to be part of such a dysfunctional team, and yet I would have been a hypocrite to voice such opinions aloud. I was just as guilty of engaging in the arguments as the rest of them.

To an extent, I could share and sympathize their frustrations. Despite Flash's antics—"the deliberate abandonment of his post", as John had phrased it—we'd still been victorious today. But it had been with a small price—John had a severely sprained wrist, Diana bore her share of cuts and scrapes, and I had a multitude of bruises forming up and down my arms. But we had survived, clearly enough to make loud and pointed commentary towards the actions of one of our own. Their anger was not without some merit, and I couldn't entirely blame them...and yet I did.

Somehow, despite his reputation, I felt Flash _had_ to have left with a good reason. He just didn't seem like one who would abandon us, especially not at a time like that, and he'd never done so before.

A light at the end of the hall caught my eye, cutting through my thoughts and prompting curiosity to the forefront. After a moment, I realized where it was coming from: Flash's room. Yet as soon as I blinked, the door closed with a distinct _hiss_ of metal slicking across metal. Had the door been made of wood, I had little doubt it would have been closed with a more furious sound than our automated doors allowed for.

Any other day, any other mission, I would have kept walking and left him to his own thoughts. But perhaps Fate does take a hand in these things, for something—something I couldn't explain and therefore didn't want to put too much consideration into—kept me from walking past that door. With a slow and heavy exhale, I lifted my hand and knocked.

Silence greeted me, so I tried again, this time by calling out to him. I didn't know if that was a better option or not, but I reasoned that, being the only one who _hadn't_ made a comment earlier today...maybe he'd at least open the door. I wasn't entirely hopeful.

A few long minutes later, the door re-opened. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting company. He wasn't wearing boots, and his mask looked a little askew, like he'd removed it in the privacy of his room and then reapplied it once he decided to open the door. Even with the mask in place though...I could clearly see his frustration and what I could only identify as sadness. But this seemed more than a simple frown or distressed expression. This was...deeper. Almost as though drawn from something other than base emotion.

Flash turned around and moved back into his room, but he didn't close the door. Taking that as a silent indication to enter, I did. When he finally spoke, it was with a voice laced in anger—plain and simple. "You here to yell at me too?" he muttered, kicking aside one of his boots, "Make it six for six?"

I felt another twinge of guilt pinch at my nerves. "I'm not here to yell." I answered. Whatever reaction I had been expecting from him...this wasn't it.

"Why not?" he replied briskly, "I need someone to make me grow up and act like an adult, right? Isn't that what they're all saying right now? Why aren't _you_ there with them?"

The sheer bitterness with which he spoke to me was more than a little unsettling. I honestly didn't know how to respond, and I would have been lying if I acted like I wasn't a little hurt. We had always seemed to get along well enough, even in our more difficult moments. Really, I could parallel my frustrations with him to that one would have with a younger brother, and he'd seemed to look up to me like a sister. Hearing him direct such anger at me wasn't right. We got frustrated with one another. He and I _never_ got angry with each other. Never. He was the one person I could always count on to never get angry at me, and even in my failings I could trust him to always forgive me, even if the others didn't. I had thought...hoped, really, that he knew he could count on me to do the same.

"I didn't want to be with them." I finally replied, willing emotion to not make its mark upon my features. "I wanted to be here with you. I...I'm not angry with you, Flash." My voice sounded weak. Weak and hesitant and uncertain, and I hated it. Especially when I meant what I was saying. "I understand, alright? I get it—"

"No, you don't!" the sharpness of his voice and the abruptness with which he turned to face me was incredibly unexpected, and I barely avoided jumping in surprise. "That's just it, Hawkgirl—_none_ of you get it! You'd all rather think that I'm the family screw-up and yell at me before even asking why I left. Maybe it was actually something important. Something _I_ knew I could handle on my own rather than bothering you guys with it. Did that ever occur to you? _No_, it didn't. Because everyone just _loves_ to yell at Flash and scold him like a five-year old who wouldn't know how to be a grown-up if his life depended on it!"

"Flash, stop!" I was trying hard to not raise my voice too much, but it was a difficult task at best. I was not about to let him—_him_, of all people—just lump me in with the others. I had my faults, but I wasn't the bad guy here, and damn him for making me feel like it!

"Just...just stop." I repeated, forcing myself to stop shaking. "I am here _because_ that occurred to me. I don't know everything about you, but I do know enough to say that you would _never_ just abandon us like that. So tell me...what happened?"

I honestly didn't know if he was going to answer; he was so angry and frustrated with us as a whole that I wouldn't have entirely blamed him for not answering. I would have blamed him even less if he'd told me to leave. I felt I was making things worse.

"There was a little girl." His voice was so soft...I could hear almost nothing of his anger in his tone now. He was just defeated. Broken. "She must have been walking on the bridge when it collapsed. I heard her crying for help under the rubble...and I didn't even stop to think. I just...ran."

I felt a strange sense of relief seep down into my limbs, soothing away all the tension with all the effort it takes to release a breath. I had been right about him. I knew he wouldn't have left us without good reason, and I'd been right.

"Did you get there in time?" it seemed like a silly question, really. He'd never failed to save someone once he put his mind to it. It was what set him apart from the rest of us, and not in the demeaning way they so often dismissed him. Really, even if they didn't see it...he was better than all of us.

"Yeah," he nodded, and I thought I heard a tiny sense of pride this time, "she was lucky...she only had a broken arm. It hurt, and she was crying, but I got her out of there and back to her parents. She's going to be alright." He paused for a moment, then added, "But it took me a while to dig through the rubble—go figure, right?" I had to give him a tiny smile for his weak attempt at a joke, but it didn't last long. Now didn't seem the place for smiles and jokes. "Even going as fast as I could...it was hard. Speed doesn't mean I can lift a half-ton piece of concrete like the big man can. I had to find other ways to get down to her. Took me longer than I thought...and when I finally got back..."

"But why didn't you...?" I stopped myself before finishing the question. It was a stupid one. He didn't tell us because we didn't give him the chance to tell us. Again.

An uneasy silence fell between us, and I was the one to break it after a long moment. "You're right." I felt his eyes shift toward me, though I wasn't fully meeting his gaze. "You're right, Flash. I'm sorry...for what we've said about you. I'm...I'm just sorry."

He didn't answer, and I finally looked up. His expression was strange, looking at me with an odd sense of longing that sent a strange shiver up my spine. It wasn't a primal gaze, laced with carnal lust or anything that even hinted at physical desire. It was deeper. Some strange, unspoken desire that he kept buried under ridiculous jokes and a consistent sense of hapless humor. Something I'd never seen before, but it didn't frighten me. If anything, it spread warmth along my entire being.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said, seeming ready to let the topic pass, but then he stopped and took a few careful steps forward. His pose was timid, almost like a child deciding whether or not to speak in the presence of adults. Speak when he hadn't been spoken to, but I _had_ spoken to him. And I wanted him to answer.

"It's just..." he shifted in place, pressing his hands awkwardly together and swallowing nervously, "I was wondering what it would be like..."

I took a small step forward, not really sure why and unwilling to think about it. He seemed somewhat encouraged by that, "...to hear you say my real name."

The request almost knocked me backward as if by a physical blow. That was one barrier we had all agreed to not cross, preferring to keep our identities a secure wall between one another. There were some exceptions, obviously; Diana had introduced herself to us as such, not as "Wonder Woman", and John's name we'd learned by accident. But with Flash...

Knowing his real name would—could—mean revealing his face. Unveiling the whole complete image that lay beneath his mask. And if he broke this deliberate code of secrecy...did that mean I would be expected to do the same? He had to know "Hawkgirl" wasn't my real name; did he _want_ to know my given name? And...what about my face? Would he want to see it?

A short but nevertheless influential lifetime of having Thanagarian traditions instilled within me instantly refuted the very idea, even before it had become a spoken request from his lips. This mask wasn't just a formality to ensure my team members didn't see my face. This mask served a purpose. On my planet, it was a veil, essentially a bridal veil. One that was not to be removed by any save my promised one, and only when we were alone. Only my promised one...no one else.

And yet...my promised one, my sense of duty, my lifetime of lessons and concept of right and wrong, even Thanagar itself, seemed a lifetime away. And only the present, only this moment with him, seemed to be of any importance.

Trying to quell the shiver I felt creeping along my spine, I swallowed and answered, stepping a bit closer. "Then...let's start over with the introductions. No nicknames, no alter egos..." I felt my throat tighten as I considered the sheer enormity of what I was about to say, "...and no masks. Just you and I...our secret."

A secret...yes, a secret it would have to be. It wasn't even that I worried about what the others would say. I just...I didn't want anyone else to know who he was. If he was willing to trust me with his name...with his face...I didn't want to share that. I wanted to keep that for myself.

It was selfish; I knew that. But I was not with my faults. I could be selfish...and damn it all, I wanted to let myself be selfish now. And I wouldn't know regret for it, if it meant I could call his face and name my own. Mine...no one else's. Just mine.

Slowly, I watched his hands lift to the crimson mask secured over his face and head, taking the material in his hand and, pausing for only a moment, drawing it backwards. Inch by inch, for once in no great hurry, his face came into view. Then, after what seemed an eternity, he pulled it fully down to let the mask hang loose around his neck. I released a breath I hadn't even been aware of holding.

He was pale-skinned—that much I already knew from what the mask regularly left exposed. But now I could see the full build of his face: solid, a bit on the lean side, but certainly not thin. A head of bright red hair with strands falling idly against his brow and teasing the slope of his neck. And...blue eyes. A pair of blue orbs set upon his face that burned so bright, so full of life that I felt nearly breathless just to look at them. Those eyes radiated his passion and love for life to a whole new degree, burning with warmth and kindness that I suddenly longed to touch, even for only a fleeting moment. It made me feel oddly cold to look into those eyes, but it filled me with a resolve that hadn't been present a few minutes ago. I felt strong. Unafraid and unconcerned for the consequences that might follow from this moment.

"Wally West," he said, extending his hand with a shy smile, "Central City Crime Lab."

My God, the man worked in the _crime lab_? Did he use the League to act like a child because he had to be serious and straight-laced in the rest of his life? Had I known, I might have demanded sense and responsibility from him long ago!

Tucking away a smile at the mere thought, I composed myself and set my hand in his. "Shayera Hol," I hadn't used my name in so long...it felt strangely good, "Lieutenant for the Thanagarian Army."

"Lieutenant Hol," he repeated, "sounds official."

I smirked, "Mr. West, working for the crime lab," I replied, "sounds like a job requiring responsibility."

"Yeah, well...keep it under the radar." He answered, and there was an adorable blush creeping across his cheek, "Don't want the others to expect too much out me."

I didn't bother denying the laugh that escaped me. "God forbid." I squeezed his hand as he shook it for a brief minute. The customary gesture was broken only when I pulled my hand back, taking his with me. He looked a little confused, but I didn't speak. Just kept pulling him toward me.

Everything I had ever been taught throughout my life screamed its protests, reminding me that this simple act alone would be a betrayal of the greatest magnitude to my promised one. But I wouldn't let myself care. Trust could not be a one-way road; it had to be earned and given by all parties involved. He had been under no obligation to trust me with his name, let alone his face. I knew there was a difference between the reason _he_ wore a mask and the reason _I_ wore a mask, but somehow...it didn't feel like there was any difference right now. For once, everything seemed so wonderfully simple.

I brought his hand to my mask, curling my fingers lightly around his wrist. Trepidation was something I just couldn't deny, and I feared it showed on my face even with the mask disguising my features. But as I watched him lift his other hand to the mask, I felt like he understood. Even without knowing exactly what this mask meant and what implications fell with the act of removing it...he understood. I knew he did.

Slowly, I felt the metallic weight lift from my skull. Time slowed, muddled and heavy as though uncertain it was willing to allow this moment to transpire. Any faltering, and I wasn't unconvinced that reality would break through the tranquility that had existed between us. Perhaps sense would lend a hand, breaking through this lulling peace that had settled over my mind and remind me just why this was wrong.

But then I felt the mask's presence fully leave me, and reality, sense, and the concepts of right and wrong ceased to exist.

I dared to open my eyes, though I had no memory of closing them, and found him gazing at me with nothing short of admiration. I felt light and free without the mask's burden, and as his hand slowly dragged down the exposed slope of my cheek, I felt my lips curve into a smile. I was happy. I could have laughed with relief, long and hard...I was so absurdly happy.

"Shayera," my name was a whisper from his lips, and I shivered to hear the reverent way he spoke the simple word. Never before had it sounded so...beautiful.

"Wally," I answered, closing the space between us with only a half-conscious thought of doing so. All I knew was the longing to see my reflection in those brilliant blue depths. Wondering if I would look different, or if it would be the same reflection I knew from brief glances in the mirror.

Seconds later, I had my answer. I scarcely knew the woman I saw in his eyes. A woman who knew happiness. Who knew the simple joys that could be found without the burdens of secrets. Who had never before known just how beautiful she could be. Now, I knew.

His hand drifted from my cheek to trail a single finger down my neck. I shivered at the tenderness, but I didn't falter and I didn't let him hesitate. I needn't have worried. The look in his eyes told me the only way he was going to stop was if I spoke the word.

I felt that hand slip around my neck, joined by its fellow and carefully stroking fingers through my hair. There was sheer adoration and longing in the simplest of touches...had I ever known such a caress?

A warm breath ghosted along my cheek, and then his lips were brushing against mine.

The touch was careful, wary of any refusal I might offer, but it was not timid and it was not afraid. He wasn't afraid of releasing his emotions in this embrace—one that people traded too often and for too many mundane occasions—and as I allowed myself to return it, I realized I was no longer afraid.

I knew no fear, only relief and pure happiness as I let myself touch him. Learn the texture of his skin, his hair, the feel of his muscled and sharply defined form, hidden from my wondering caresses by a thin layer of slick cloth. I could feel the heat seep forward from his body into mine, and I drew myself closer, wanting to share his heat. Wanting to burn with him. I wanted...and I _wondered_. Wondered with the curiosities of a virgin.

Wondered what his skin would feel like against mine. Wondered what his kiss would feel like against my throat, my shoulders...against every part of me that he wanted to kiss—and I knew I would let him without objection. Wondered what it would be like to feel his heart beat in time with mine. Wondered what it would feel to have our hands lie pressed together, fingers entwined in a connection that seemed so mundane and yet could be unbreakable, even if for only one night.

Wondered...just how long I had been in love with him.

**END**


End file.
